


Lady of Rohan

by Citron_Swiftvale



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cheating, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Foot Massage, Height Differences, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Merrywyn, Oral Sex, Romance, Smut, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27368140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Citron_Swiftvale/pseuds/Citron_Swiftvale
Summary: Éowyn visits the Shire after realizing which man she truly loves. Will Merry reciprocate her feelings?The answer is yes.
Relationships: Merry Brandybuck/Éowyn
Kudos: 15





	Lady of Rohan

Éowyn loved the feel of the breeze on her face as she galloped on her mare, loved the freedom that came with riding all through the steppes of Rohan. The tenseness in her body ebbed away as she melded her body with that of the horse. How did the poem go? _Where is the horse and the rider..._ To Éowyn, they both disappeared and a new being was born, swifter and more powerful than either alone.

She nearly ignored the calls from her retinue who were dutifully failing to keep pace. What she would have given for an honour guard of Rohirrim who would know not to interrupt such a moment, or even better, to ride out alone. Instead, Faramir had insisted she take ten knights of Dol Amroth. Their horses were larger than the steeds of Rohan but were bred for carrying men in plate armour and not for speed. She understood Faramir’s reasoning: she was a lady of Gondor now, wife to the king’s steward, and so the men of Gondor were now honour-bound to protect her. Added to this, she would soon leave plains of Rohan and cross to Eriador, a land of forests and Rangers rather than rolling steppe. It was a long journey to undertake, and not one without peril, and so she must accept that others would join her with so many leagues to cover in pursuit of an old friend.

With a sigh she reined in and brought her horse to an easy canter so the knights could catch up. Whatever the inconvenience, she was thankful Faramir let her travel at all. He was so consumed with his duties as law-giver in Minas Tirith that he could not make the journeys she so very much wanted, but he had sworn to never keep her caged like her father once had. When she had the whim to visit the Shire, he had let her go. The knights were his compromise, and hers.

Such was their relationship, and now that it came to mind, she gave a sad smile. Always the melancholy sort, she swore to herself not to let that reflection sour her mood. He had indulged her, and she could not ask for a better husband. Yet still, a longing crept in her heart for the days when she rode in battle and could be more than a mistress, more than a wife.

* * *

Merry rode down towards Sarn Ford as soon as he heard from the post that a company from Gondor was approaching the borders of the Shire. Coming as he did through Tookland, Pippin had elected to join him. Both of them donned their old armour from many years before, Merry in the livery of Rohan, Pippin in that of Gondor, and rode ponies along the Greenway towards the Brandywine River with a welcoming party of young hobbits.

He could not deny the mixture of eagerness in his head and heaviness in his heart. Merry wanted nothing more than to see Éowyn again, and yet at the same time, nothing less. His chest had harboured a longing ever since he returned to the Shire; for some years he thought it a longing for adventure now that the Shire was peaceful once more, but his thoughts kept drifting to one person above all others.

He had come to admit that he was in love. And so, at the wedding between Éowyn and Faramir he had felt both joy for her happiness but also pain—pain, knowing that the tall and fair lady of Rohan would never be with a hobbit such as himself even though he had put on some height from the effects of the Ent draught. Pain as well, knowing right then that he would never dispel his feelings for her and it would thus remain his secret.

They rounded the next bend to the slight drop below that went down to the riverside, and he saw he had arrived just in time, for a company of tall riders was approaching the ford from the south. He brought the horn hung round his neck to his lips and let out a blast to signal their arrival, then urged his pony to a quicker pace.

“Wait, Merry!” called Pippin, but Merry took no heed. Soon he was on the bank of the Brandywine watching as the horses splashed across the shallow, slow waters. Finally, he spotted her, still like a willow wand, sitting tall and handsome on her horse with her golden hair flowing behind her. She too was urging her horse at a pace that outstripped the other men behind her, and when her horse scrabbled up the other bank Merry hastily dismounted and dropped to one knee.

“Welcome to the Shire, Lady of Gondor and Rohan,” Merry said, carefully enunciating the words he’d rehearsed so often so that his voice would not break. “Our mayor Samwise Gamgee offers his greetings, and we would escort you to Hobbiton should you wish it.”

“Hail and well met,” said Éowyn. Merry hadn’t dared look up, but he heard her leap lightly off her horse. “I would very much like your company.”

To his surprise, she caught him up in a strong embrace, her face pressing to his. He could no longer avoid her gaze now, nor the smile that lit her usually austere expression. Once again, he was overwhelmed with her beauty and had to suppress a cough and sputter. “My lady!”

“Oh Merry, it’s so _good_ to see you again!”

He was left gasping as she stood and dusted off her riding dress, raising her hand in a salute as Pippin finally came down to the join them. “And you as well, Pippin! The years flow, but friendship does not falter!”

“I am glad to hear it,” said Pippin with a laugh.

The knights behind her exchanged looks of bemusement. Merry did not doubt that Éowyn had been but a distant presence to them, as she was wont to give such an impression to strangers, and to see her laughing as she did was likely a shock. But as well, the whole of it was an odd sight: the knights resplendent and tall, greeted by such a ragtag group of halflings.

“We have much to discuss,” said Éowyn, “but let us do that on the road, shall we?”

Merry nodded and clambered back onto his pony, and he could not help but stare as she watched her gracefully swing her legs up onto her white mare. Even more embarrassing, she caught him staring at her, and gave him a wide grin.

His heart was pounding in his chest like the drums in Moria, and he felt his mouth go dry. He wondered, with such a violent reaction to her presence brought about by years of absence, how he would keep company with her through the next month without making his feelings known.

* * *

The Knights of Dol Amroth had seemed unable to decide what to make of the hobbits for their first few days in the Shire, but by the time they came to the feast at Brandy Hall they were at last at ease. As he surreptitiously sipped at his mug of ale, Merry even observed one of the knights having an animated conversation with one of Merry’s cousins that clearly had amorous intent from both of them. Yet he knew such unions were impossible, and his observations were in part to avoid staring yet again at the human woman who sat beside him at the table.

“Are you married now, Merry? Engaged?” Éowyn asked, nearly making Merry spit his ale back into his mug. She too had been quaffing with as much gusto as her retinue and was clearly a little tipsy. “You haven’t introduced me, and you simply must.”

“N-No my lady,” Merry said. “Sam and Pippin have both gotten married, but not I.” How could he, when he still loved Éowyn so?

“Well that is certainly curious. I thought for sure...” her smiled died and she squinted at her mug before taking a long, thoughtful pull. Afterwards, she announced, “This chatter here is giving me a headache. Would you come walk with me outside?”

Merry swallowed. “As you wish, my lady,” he said and slipped off his stool. Éowyn steadied herself on the table after she rose a might too quickly and swayed one way, then the other. Then she put a hand on Merry’s shoulder.

“Lead the way.”

Her touch made him involuntarily blush, and while she gripped him, he led her out of the hall.

* * *

Éowyn had to stoop to go through the winding hallways of Brandy Hall, always in danger of hitting her head on the knick-knacks that hung off the rafters at every corner. At last they exited from the sprawling hobbit-hole into the evening light, and she let Merry go once she was able to stand fully upright. Merry only reached to her chest, but she observed, unlike the knights who came with her, that he looked nothing like a child. In fact, the years had made him more rugged in her eyes.

The night was warm with only a slight breeze. Over the hedge behind Brandy Hall she saw the a canopy of tall trees swaying gently under the stars. She took a deep breath scented with a smell of fresh leaves and felt the fog clear away from her head. She looked down at Merry again, who was saying nothing, and then on an impulse reached out and took his hand in hers. She felt him flinch in surprise and tightened her grip.

“Do you remember,” she said, “such a night outside Druadan Forest?”

“Yes,” Merry said, finally relaxing, his touch warm and soft in hers.

She had disguised herself as Dernhelm then so she could ride to war. Merry had thought she was another one of the Rohirrim warriors. But because he spoke freely to her as if she were a man, she had come to realize that there was more to the hobbits than legends. He had been a man fully grown, in this world over ten years before she was, and it had not been right of her to think of him as a child then. Together they had spoken under the constellations about what the future would bring. And now...

“Where do you make your home, now?” she asked him.

“It’s not far from here,” he said, “I took over the house at Crickhollow that Frodo had before he became master of Bag End. I’m supposed to live at Brandy Hall, but sometimes it becomes too much, with all the people out and about, so I decided to live alone. We all need peace and quiet, every once in a while.”

“Yes,” Éowyn said, “silence is a precious thing.” She thought on her next words to choose them carefully. “But is it also because you grew apart from them?”

They had wandered closer to the river, its waters shimmering under moonlight. It took a moment for Merry to answer. “I suppose, well, most hobbits never leave the Shire. They don’t see what I have seen. They don’t meet others who aren’t their kind. They don’t meet people like you,” he said the last in a near-whisper, and Éowyn noticed that he was blushing.

“It is the same with me and the ladies-in-waiting in Minas Tirith and Ithilien,” Éowyn said. “They have not fought in a battle, have not ridden horses for days on end, have not slept with just a blanket in the forest while insects crawled upon them. I would do everything to protect them and their quiet lives, but their lives are not like mine.” She squeezed his hand again, delighting in how he responded to her ministrations. “Could you show me your home? You said it wasn’t far.”

“Y-yes my lady,” said Merry, and they wandered off together down the lane away from Brandy Hall. Éowyn looked over her shoulder, but there was no sign that her retinue would follow, too occupied with mead and ale. This was the Shire and the king had returned, they knew she was in no danger, and she had counted on them becoming lax. It was her first opportunity to have the man she wanted alone with her, and she had taken it.

* * *

The house at Crickhollow was a small cottage with a high peaked roof rather than the smials Éowyn was used to seeing in the Shire. As charming as the hobbit burrows were, she felt more comfortable in a house above the ground with stone walls. Merry fumbled with the key at the circular door—that, at least, hadn’t changed—and admitted her before going off to strike candles in the parlour.

She admitted she had drunk a little too much, or she would never have been so bold. But what advantage was there in waiting? She carefully lowered herself into a tall-backed chair by the hearth and watched Merry bustle about a little wistfully as he prepared tea. At her residence in Gondor, servants saw to most of the household chores, and so she would rarely see Faramir engage in domestic tasks unless they were out together in Ithilien.

“This is a welcome change. It’s so quiet and peaceful here,” Éowyn said, stretching out her limbs without neglecting the way doing so tightened the fabric on her green dress just so, and sniggering when she noted how it caught Merry’s eye before he turned away in embarrassment.

“The Brandybucks are a rowdy bunch at times. They are family, of course, and I love them all, but some days I have so little to talk about with any of them.”

She arrested his hand when he passed her a mug of steaming tea and forced him to meet her gaze. “Do you know why I came to the Shire, Merry?”

He swallowed and gave a nervous laugh. “I wouldn’t begin to guess, my lady.”

“I came to see you.”

She studied every shift in his expression, brief confusion, and then delight, and then—something else that seemed almost a grimace.

“Sit down,” she ordered him, and he did. Then she sipped from the mug. Her belly was already warm from the ale, but this was warmth of a different sort, comforting and putting her mind at ease, which was the other thing she needed. “We were only together a short while, in the war, but we accomplished so much. I admit, I have felt your absence deeply.”

“Ah, are you proposing that I come to Gondor?”

She shook her head. “No, I would not ask that of you. Though I would be delighted if you did. You may live where you choose, and this is your home. Just as Gondor is now mine. Yet still, I wished to know, if perhaps,” now she felt herself begin to blush, “you felt my absence as well.”

“My lady...” Merry seemed at a loss.

“I would want the truth from you, Meriadoc Brandybuck. Because I cannot bear a lie.” But before he could speak, Éowyn found herself saying, “I did not think, back then, that I would miss you so. But I’ve realized, that perhaps, the person who drew the most fondness from my heart was you. You told me that you were not married, and I thought, perhaps, that was because I was foremost in your thoughts.”

Now it was she who could not bear to see Merry’s reaction. She gripped her mug tightly, wondering now if the culmination of her journey would be a deep and bitter disappointment.

“Éowyn,” Merry said in a whisper, and she was surprised when she put his hands on hers as he knelt on the ground before her, having sprung from his chair in response to her plea. “I never would have thought...I...yes! It’s you. All this time, I have only thought of you. Ever since the Houses of Healing, I have loved you.” They looked to each other, and Éowyn saw that Merry was in tears.

“Oh Merry,” she decamped from the chair to her knees and embraced him just as she had at Sarn Ford, but without any armour between them. “I...I am glad.”

“My lady, you are wed,” said Merry, “and I never will.”

“If I had known, if I had thought to ask, if I had just thought more on what was to come.” She felt a shiver pass through her. But Faramir was far away, no one had followed, no one knew she was here. She reached up and grabbed both sides of Merry’s face and drew him into a gentle kiss.

Merry at first eagerly reciprocated, then broke away. “Faramir—”

“He need not know,” said Éowyn. “He is a good man. A good husband. But he is not to me what you are.”

With all his duties, his visits to their bedchambers had grown more infrequent, and when they were together, she had found herself imagining a different man’s touch. No more would she deny herself her true inclinations. She again caught Merry in a deep kiss, and next she brought her lips to his ear and whispered, “Lay with me.”

“My lady, we cannot.”

“Lay with me. Let us seal what we have felt for each other, all this time.”

* * *

Merry saw the sincerity in her clear blue eyes. He never had thought Éowyn would declare her love for him after all this time. Since the War of the Ring he had become used to loss, Gandalf and Frodo and Bilbo all departing for the Grey Havens, Sam and Pippin marrying and taking on lives of their own. Surely this was but a dream, for Éowyn to have come five years anon just so she might embrace him so.

But she was here, and he found he could not refuse her.

“Yes,” he said, and this time he returned her kiss.

* * *

Though hobbits were far shorter than the average man, Éowyn found a member of human size when she brought her hands to the drawstrings of Merry’s trousers. They were now kissing and heaving together in passionate abandon, Éowyn clumsily toppling back into the reading chair with Merry clinging on top of her, his hands roaming across her dress, finding purchase on her hips and then her breasts. She decided to roam as well, and so felt his stiffness and stroked it gently.

But rather than keep with her ministrations, Merry slid down between her legs, and she hitched up her dress to help him along. She imagined he might loosen her undergarments so he might mount her, but he had suddenly stopped, and tugged daintily at her shoes until she let him peel them away. He ran his hands up and down her leg, and Éowyn gave a little cry as he began massaging her feet and toes.

“What is it you do?” she asked throatily.

“I’m sorry,” Merry said with an apologetic smile, “but I have...I have always been fascinated by human feet.”

Of course, hobbits did not wear shoes. While his feet were large and thick-soled and covered with hair, hers were smooth, and shapely, and dainty to the eye.

“Would you kiss them then?” she asked with a smile, raising a foot and pushing it against his forehead.

He did not answer, instead eagerly running his tongue along her toes and the sole of her foot. She found the contact not unpleasant, happy that her body could cause such feelings of devotion in the hobbit. He did not stay at her foot, however, moving his mouth up her thighs and then rustling the fabric so he might put his head between them.

Éowyn gasped, and reached out so she could muss his curly hair. His tongue darted into her and he roamed about her mounds before drawing himself deeper. She saw his gaze was still directed towards her and she then tightened her thighs around him, locking him between their grip. “More,” she said. “Do more...of _that_.”

He obliged, until she bucked against his head and felt a shock of pleasure run through her the likes of which she had never felt. Intercourse with her husband was a kind, gentle affair, but he had not given her what Merry did now.

As her legs slackened, Merry withdrew and Éowyn asked him, “Where did you learn such a thing?”

“It just came to me n-now,” he said, stuttering. “Did you like it?”

“Come here,” Éowyn said, heaving him up onto her lap and touching her lips to his once more.

* * *

“You’ve have given me a thought as well,” Éowyn breathed into Merry’s ear after their most recent exchange of kisses. She lifted him from her lap and slid off the chair so she was on her hands and knees before him. Merry watched intently, excited as he had an inkling of what she had in mind and in surprise that this stately Rohirrim would come to have such a notion.

She freed the buttons on his trousers and pulled them down with great force, followed by his undergarments, before she contemplated his member a moment. Then daintily pushing her braid to one side she opened her mouth and took the very tip inside of it.

Merry let out a yelp.

“Are you willing?” said Éowyn, withdrawing and looking up at Merry’s stunned face.

“Y-yes!” he responded enthusiastically, and without further instruction Éowyn’s head lowered again, her tongue flicking across the sensitive flesh before she consumed more of him. The moist interior sent shivers through his body, and he found himself reaching down and carefully taking a lock of loose hair between his fingers, marveling in its silk-like texture at the same time as he indulged in the slickness rolling across his most sensitive parts. Éowyn reach forward and caressed the remaining portion of his shaft, then lightly gripped his dangling testicles and gave them a sharp tug, eliciting a pained moan from Merry.

Next, she let him free and wiping away the saliva from her lips with her wrist, she said, “You amaze me. Faramir would have surely spent himself by now.”

In truth, Merry thought with anyone else that would have been true for him as well, but his mind raced through so many knots of disbelief, and he had become so enamored, that he’d wanted to draw out this moment as much as he could.

She pivoted to her knees and rose as much to her full height as the low hobbit-sized ceiling allowed so she could shimmy out from her dress, revealing her perfectly-shaped body beneath. She was scarred, yes, having gone about the battlefield, but her muscular legs and arms brought about even more excitement in Merry. He hurriedly shrugged from his remaining clothing and suddenly blushed again, realizing how unfit he seemed when measured against her. Not the tall kingly presence of Aragorn was he; Merry was in better shape than many companions in the Shire, but would never have the look of a true warrior.

“Do you truly wish to have me?” he asked, abashed.

“It’s far too late for such questions,” said Éowyn, raising his chin. “Do not be ashamed. To me, you are the most handsome man in Middle Earth.”

A firm thrust from her palm sent him tumbling to the floorboards and she clambered on top of him, smothering his stomach and chest with light kisses that made his breath catch, each and every single one. Her nethers brushed against his own, and Merry opened his eyes so he might arrest her next move.

“Wait.”

“What is it?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“If you were to have a child from this, there would be no hiding the father,” he said, wishing he had lost himself enough not to. “I do not know what might come of such a union, but were such a child to appear as a hobbit...”

“Do you propose we stop?” Éowyn asked, aghast.

“No, not, not stop! Do not mistake me, there is nothing in this world that I would like to do more than...that. But perhaps we can try...something different.”

“Why, you are full of ideas today, Master Meriadoc.” She rested her hands on his chest and cocked her head. “Well? I am listening.”

“There is a custom among unwed hobbits should they wish to relieve their urges,” Merry said quickly. “I don’t know if it is shared in the realms of men. But here, it is customary for the man to,” he blushed again, “well,” he reached a hand behind her, and ran it across her buttocks, “to put his member in the woman’s posterior.”

At first Éowyn drew back, seeming scandalized by the mere suggestion. Then her face steadied into a look of disbelief, and curiosity. “Verily?”

Merry nodded. “Verily.”

She thought for a moment on this, scrunching her brow. “I suppose that would solve the problem of perchance bearing a halfling child,” she said, “but I feel like such a thing would...hurt, would it not?”

“There is a special ointment. In fact, Pippin gave me a jar from Michel Delving not too long ago,” he said. It was not long after Pippin’s wedding, in fact, when Pippin had grown concerned at Merry’s lack of interest in the lasses of the Shire. “It softens the muscles, they say, and hobbit maidens apparently find the act most pleasurable.”

He took the opportunity to massage her buttocks again while Éowyn digested what he had told her.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose it is worth a try. But should I tell you that I wish you to stop, you will, you hear? Or I shall break that kettle across that head of yours.”

“I would not dream of hurting you, my lady. If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop.”

She dragged herself off her body, and Merry sprang up to fetch the ointment from the pantry.

* * *

Éowyn would never have imagined submitting herself in such a way. She was draped over a chair, looking back as Merry unscrewed the lid on a glass vial and scooped a substance much like free-flowing sap on his fingers. Still, she found herself reacting to his touch as he applied the cool liquid to the heart of her backside. At first, she simply felt him smearing the stuff in a place she had once believed no man would ever touch, and then she felt a tingling sensation as the ointment began its work.

Then slowly, gently, she felt one of his fingers slip inside her.

“How does it feel, my lady?” Merry asked.

“Strange,” she replied. “Passing strange. But...good?”

He flexed the joints of his finger a while, pushing and pulling, then applying more ointment into her as resistance slowly gave way. Her bowels began to go numb, and she wondered what kind of herb-craft would go into concocting such a thing. Then she closed her eyes and gave a low moan as Merry inserted another finger into her buttocks. Soon there was more than that, as his hot breath played against her crotch and he lapped at the nectar he found there, bringing her near to the brink before he abruptly withdrew.

“I think you’re ready,” he said.

Éowyn craned her neck to look back at him. “Yes, I think you are right,” she said. “But...how? Would you need a stool?” She found herself involuntarily laughing at the thought.

He seemed suddenly bashful again. “It’s true, you are much taller than me, my lady. I thought, perhaps, you could lower yourself...”

“Ah. I see. Yes, that sounds...yes.”

She staggered off the chair and watched as Merry quickly lay himself on the floorboards, arching his back so his member rose higher in the air. She took a moment to decide how she would approach this, and then at last turned so her backside faced his head, and took hold of his ankles for purchase. The hairs that curled up his feet felt soft in her fingers, and while Merry had expressed interest in her feet before she found herself also curious. Yet with hobbits walking barefoot every which way she decided against licking his toes. She squatted, trusting Merry to line his member with his goal, and then felt it straining against her.

At once she took a deep breath, and pushed down. There was only a brief moment where the gate seemed to hold fast, and then he breached her, causing her to gasp. Even with the ointment, she still had to lower herself slowly. She had not expected this sensation after the work of his fingers, of him filling her inner spaces, every curve and bend of her rasping against him, culminating in Éowyn feeling deliciously full.

“My—my lady,” Merry cried out, and she arched back with a sudden desire to see Merry’s face.

Pure bliss. The hobbit’s eyes were closed, his mouth making an “oh” and all the muscles on his body straining, skin covered in sweat.

Éowyn laughed. He was just so very _cute_. And he felt so very, very good within her.

She rocked herself forward, drawing him out as her insides clung to him as if reluctant to let go, then rocked back until she was settled against his pelvis and he was all of him joined to her. “I should never have doubted you,” she said. “This ointment of yours works wonders.”

His heavy panting was too strained for him to deliver any sort of response, and Éowyn suddenly had the thought that she wanted to drive him mad. She raised herself up again, and down, in love with the feeling of press and release and as well the way Merry tightened and quivered with every one of her shifts and turns. At last she had a thought and wiggled so he was somehow even deeper in her backside, then leaned back so he was caught in her hair and her weight bore him down, hitching up her legs in turn. The way this caused his member to stir and press stimulated some hitherto unknown part of her innards, and she let out a cry that equaled her shout when she beheaded the Witch-King, as something exploded through her nether regions and caused her toes to curl.

She lost some of her poise after that, rolling to the side as her muscles grew slack. She had nearly blacked out from the joy of what she just experienced. She felt Merry’s arms wrap around her sides tightly, hugging her close, and his head push between the crook of her arm and her left breast. “Éowyn,” he said, and he kept repeating her name, thrusting as he did in time to each exclamation and causing her to throw back her head in abandon in turn.

“Merry!” she called, and their voices joined together in song. She wished she could crane back and kiss him, but the difference in their bodies was too great and he was too far away. All she could do was concentrate on the part that battered her with increasing pace, until he thrust one last time and she felt him writhe and pulse and a splash as his seed erupted inside of her like the fires of Mount Doom.

He did not withdraw immediately, instead reaching up and cupping her breasts as she breathed heavily, cheek pressed against the floorboards.

“How—how was it my lady?”

“Need you even ask?” she said with a sudden laugh. “And for you?”

“I love you,” he said, “I could not think of an evening any better than this.”

“Then let it not be over,” she said, quietly. “Shall we repair to the bedroom?”

To this, Merry gave eager assent.

* * *

They snuggled together after their next round employing the ointment, this time facing each other so they might stare into each other’s eyes again. While she did not want to go, at long last Éowyn donned her dress, instructing Merry to do the same. “We must go back to Brandy Hall,” said Éowyn, “lest my retinue grow suspicious.”

Merry understood, and they made their way back, finding separate doors to enter by. By then most of the guests were asleep, save a few hobbits who were still merrily dancing with one of the knights, and another knight who was in the middle of a panicked search for his master.

“And what next for you, my lady?” Merry had asked as he took his place at the table again beside her.

“I think I shall return to the Shire as often as I might, and I will be most pleased if you should visit me in Gondor,” Éowyn said, and beneath the table, out from the sight of all, their hands intertwined together.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> There just isn't enough Éowyn x Merry fanfic, so time to rectify that. Poor Faramir, but it just had to happen. These two were meant for each other.
> 
> I did not check in the books how far Crickhollow is from Brandy Hall, but the rest should be canon-compliant.


End file.
